


Here Be Monsters

by SupposedToBeWriting



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: ... I Guess? But Can You Truly Hurt Elias Bouchard, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Sea Monsters, Some Vague End S4 Spoilers, Survival, Takes Place Before Canon S1, the Tundra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:08:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26679502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupposedToBeWriting/pseuds/SupposedToBeWriting
Summary: Elias knew Peter would be upset - it had taken him quite a long time to plan that Ritual, after all. But when Elias wakes up in Peter's bed aboard the Tundra, he realizes that Peter intends to peel away his power until he's a suitable meal for the Lonely. Some days, Elias really can't believe Peter's gall.With limited abilities and surrounded by dense fog, Elias isn't sure how he'll successfully escape the Tundra - but he is certain that he'll make Peter pay for this childishness.
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Peter Lukas
Comments: 11
Kudos: 68





	1. Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Toxic relationships (for the whole fic), Lonely-related discussions

Frankly, Elias should have seen this coming.

He had been expecting something of the sort when he listened to the tape where Gertrude described stopping Peter’s ritual. Her success hadn’t been a surprise in itself. All rituals were doomed to fail (his own, of course, would be the exception). No doubt Peter would feel some reasonable anger and lash out, but even while Elias waited for the livid pasty sailor in his Institute – he heard nothing for weeks.

After that, the incident had more-or-less left his mind. Elias had more important things to focus on than his husband’s hypothetical wrath. He had chalked it up to Peter being _dreadfully_ poor at starting and managing conflicts. Probably off sulking on the Tundra and licking his wounds, until the inevitable fog dulled his feelings enough that even Peter himself forgot about it.

At the very least, Elias couldn’t expend the mental effort for something that was not an immediate problem. Two hundred years of planning and he still had _weekly_ emergencies that threatened the integrity of the entire plan. Modern life was so much more _complicated._ He fell into bed every night, utterly weary.

Unfortunately, it just so happened on that particular morning he didn’t wake up in his bed.

He woke up in Peter’s, with a burning headache.

It wasn’t like he made a habit of frequenting the _Tundra._ When it was in dock, it was a filthy old container ship that held precisely nil appeal. Certainly, he could walk through stacks and stacks of empty cargo containers if he were feeling dreadfully bored, perhaps catch the smell of rotting fish from nearby ships, or he could gingerly tear off his fingernails. They all held the same intellectual appeal.

When it wasn’t in dock, the ship was a travelling pocket of the Lonely. Not a dimension of the Forsaken proper, but rather one of remarkable power, not unlike the Institute for the Eye. Rather ingenious in its own way (though he would never be telling Peter as much). It could sail for months and months out in the middle of nowhere, with absolutely nothing in the hundreds of cargo containers on its decks. One hundred crewmembers, obedient, unwitting little servants of the Lonely. So _easy._ Of course, there was no ambition there, which was why Elias had been surprised that Peter had attempted a Ritual at all. Poor thing. Doomed to fail from the start.

It was _sort of_ funny, though. With two hundred years of experience, watching an absolute _novice_ try and plan a Ritual that would bring about a new world – _god._ A toddler trying to attempt brain surgery. Of course, he had offered no advice. That had been part of his deal with Peter.

And now _someone_ was acting _juvenile._

“ _Peter,”_ Elias called out, pushing himself up to his elbows to look around the bed. Peter wasn’t there, though the blankets on his side were torn back and mussed. He was dressed in the nightrobe that he’d gone to sleep in, but it looked as if Peter had put out a change of clothes for him over on the desk. How _thoughtful_ of his absolute _boor_ of a husband. He stayed in bed for a moment or two longer. If he was to have a day off (perhaps a half-day, whenever he sorted this out with his husband), then he could rest a moment.

Peter’s quarters were appropriately lavish, especially considering the industrial state of the rest of the ship. He supposed the Lukas blood predisposed him to err on the richer side of life. It _certainly_ didn’t make him want to get up. The bed was quite warm with its plush duvet and silk sheets (though, when he put his hand out, felt Peter’s side to be unnaturally cold). He just let his eyes glitter around the rest of the quarters. It seemed old-fashioned in a way that didn’t exactly exist, a rose-tinted view of what maritime history had been. The quarters of a roguish captain who slayed pirates and explored the seven seas. Christ, it would be funny if it wasn’t the slightest bit pathetic _._

He’d only been there once before and had excused himself early in the morning, before Peter had even woken. That had been months ago, and Elias saw that little had changed. The same few paintings lined the walls: dreary empty landscapes and gauche impressionism. A desk with unsurprisingly little correspondence but plenty of blank paper. A large wooden wardrobe, a thick ornate rug, a mirror (covered), and the bathroom door. An empty metal bucket. The same as it had been before, down to the dust motes that swirled in the light given by the single lamp on the desk. Peter was a man allergic to change.

Elias tried reach his mind out, to Know where Peter was, but found himself unable to detect the locations of anyone aboard the vessel. One hundred and one souls practically undetectable wisps. Instead, he was just greeted by a hazy gray fog attacking at the boundaries of his brain. Ah. That, at least, gave some information: they weren’t in dock, a stone’s throw away from London. They were abroad, then, actually sailing. That complicated matters _considerably,_ most notably in the nullification of his own abilities. He let himself fall back into the pillows with an aggravated huff.

What was Peter’s goal in all this?

If he was looking for an apology, that stupid bastard was not going to get it. The deal between them had been fair – more fair than Elias’ wagers usually were with him. Peter would attempt a Ritual, with precisely _zero_ involvement from Elias. If Peter failed, then Elias would review the tapes Gertrude would undoubtedly make of the event to learn more about how a Ritual was conducted (thus furthering his study on how to make his own). If Peter succeeded – well, then the world would be quite different.

Of course, Elias hadn’t _mentioned_ that the only reason he agreed was to get Gertrude marked by the Lonely herself. She hadn’t been. Her solution to stopping the whole thing had been quite clever, but had kept her from really getting into the heart of the action. That was no matter; Elias supposed that she would get naturally marked by it soon enough. Archivists often did.

He also thought it would be very funny to watch Peter fail, and it had been hilarious.

If Peter was _not_ looking for an apology – well, what then? Something material? The Lukases were richer than God and had no ambition for information. Help with another Ritual? Peter would be recovering from this one for decades, if he even wished to attempt another. To kill him? Elias imagined that would be easy enough to accomplish, and without the need to transport him back to his ship.

To feed him to his patron?

Elias’ hand crept up to gingerly touch at the hollow of his throat in concern.

Surely not. _Surely not!_ The failing of a mediocre Ritual to begin with (he should never have told Peter about the Internet, that had _definitely_ given him the idea) wasn’t worth his life. Not to mention that it was hard to say whether Elias even _could_ be eaten by the Lonely – this Avatar of the Watcher business made that a little difficult. Still, stay long enough in a place totally devoid of proper human contact, cut off from his powers, and who was to say what would happen? He was taken out of his place of power.

It would be a monumentally stupid idea, trying to feed him to the Lonely. It would disrupt the balance of many things, even beyond himself. Elias had alliances and truces that Peter could not begin to fathom. But then again, it was Peter Lukas, and Elias had learned never to trust his intellect when it came to important matters.

Well. That was enough anxiety to be starting the day with. Finally, Elias rose from the comfortable bed and took a shower. As usual, the man’s toiletries were infuriatingly sparse. He eventually found himself smelling like cloves shit by a bear in the woods before considering the clothing that Peter had left for him.

The frustrations never seemed to cease today. Elias gingerly picked them up with two fingers, wincing at the very notion.

Did Peter think this was what he _wore?_ With a flowing white button-up shirt and tight black trousers, he was going to look like a _pirate._ A captured bloody pirate aboard an archaic navy vessel. He hadn’t worn something like this since the nineteenth century – and with the cloying scent of cologne, it looked like he was about to revisit the past indeed. Elias sighed in annoyance and tucked what he could of the shirt inside the waistband of his trousers. At least the shoes were sensible enough.

Foolishness. Elias hated this boyish behavior. He hoped this nonsense wouldn’t take longer than a day; he disliked being gone for any longer than that. Just had to go find Peter and sort this out _quickly._

Elias made his way from the cabin’s quarters. The cargo deck itself was an entirely different world – while Peter’s quarters could have felt right at home on a nobleman’s personal sailing vessel, up above was brutally twenty-first century cold iron and steel. The acrid tang of metal and damp assaulted his senses while he walked along the maze of shipping containers. All different colors, but none particularly vivid. They towered high above him in neat, orderly stacks, cutting off any hope for light up above. It had to be sometime during the day, and yet Elias was wandering in near darkness between the large shipping containers.

_Cold,_ too. He brought his hands up to hold onto his arms, already shivering. What a pleasant day this was turning out to be. It was easy to feel isolated in a place like this, too. When he was between stacks of containers (at least dozens of feet high, and he had a feeling that they weren’t secured according to regulation _),_ he could only hear his own footsteps echoing against the metal. There were other crewmembers aboard, of course, but … well. _Were there really?_

Been there for perhaps a few hours and Elias was already starting to doubt himself. Hell. Sometimes it was very easy to forget that his Entity had no claim over others – they were all very powerful, and very dangerous, in their own right. Elias was more discomforted than ever.

“Best to get to the edge of the ship.” Ah. The echoing wasn’t much better with his voice, was it? Elias took a deep breath and turned a corner – and into a person. He bumped into them properly, causing both of them to let out a noise of surprise and reel back.

It was _hard_ not to have a general sense for things, the location and behavior of everyone in his general vicinity. Was this simply how people got around? Stumbling blindly in the dark? Dreadful. “My apologies,” Elias murmured to one of Peter’s crew, as if they hadn’t been walking in a darkened maze of metal and misery. He could be polite. _Perhaps,_ if properly manipulated, this man could be of some help.

The crewmember was mirroring Elias’ movements with his arms, similarly cold. Elias doubted they ever got used to the feeling. His hair was greasy and acne had sprouted over his face, though he suspected that he couldn’t be younger than forty-five years of age. What struck Elias most about him was the far-away quality in his eyes, like he had been stopped by a wall instead of a man. Elias’ eyes flicked over him, looking for something to pick apart.

Not a word, but he didn’t keep walking, either. He was wearing practical but nondescript gear. Calloused hands, no tools with him. Nothing to do but wander the crates. _Interesting._ Elias wondered if at least _one_ of his abilities remained intact. “ _What are you doing here?”_ Elias asked, compulsion coloring his voice with a deep hum.

_I want to know your statement. Give it to me now._ At this point, Elias would take _any_ trauma given to him. He found that his nerves were starting to get unmanageable.

The crewman stared at him blankly. No recognition flicked in his eyes. It wasn’t even as if Elias had spoken a foreign language to him – it was as if Elias was simply not there at all. Elias dropped the pretense of politeness. He was nearly certain that this man would be useless. “Tell me _now.”_ Pressing further, Elias took a step forward and narrowed his hazel eyes at him. The humming grew louder in his voice, but Elias knew before he even shut his mouth that he wasn’t going to get anything.

The crewman’s hands were shaking. Oh, the poor _dear._ One could only imagine what was going through his head. Probably the equivalent to what went through a goldfish’s, after being stuck on the _Tundra_ for so long.. Elias had seen the remnants of people who got trapped in the Lonely or adjacent places. They were stuck in their own heads for months and months, and then their world started to get smaller, and smaller, until there were no more thoughts to think. A shell. Not necessarily that there was nothing _in_ them – but what _was_ in them had been pored over and pondered and picked apart so many times that it held little interest to any party.

Striking. There was something else left to try. Elias preferred to destroy the inside all at once, a skill that his Archivists had never quite developed. Elias tried to insert himself behind the man’s eyes, to see through the man’s cloudy irises. It wouldn’t enable him to gather any information, but he could at least see how ridiculous he looked in this get-up. _And_ give him some reassurance that he wasn’t utterly powerless here. He shut his eyes, and simply –

_Fog._ Nothing was behind those eyes – and nothing could look out of them, either. Christ, that was unpleasant.

_And_ unfortunate. Although he couldn’t imagine what advantage looking through another’s eyes would give him on this particular ship, it was disappointing to know that he couldn’t. He gave the crewman a sharp look. “Don’t you have wet paint to observe?” Elias snapped at him, striding past him and the row of shipping containers. As far as he knew, he didn’t hear any footsteps start up behind him again.

Elias shook his head severely, fingers going up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Ugh, he wasn’t going to be trying _that_ with any of the other crewmembers. Something was different about his head, the headache from before had morphed into something different – was it emptier? No, that wasn’t quite the right word. It was like an entire class of instruments had dropped out of an orchestra. He could still pick out the tune, but …

Normal, then? Like everyone else on the god-blessed Earth? That was how he had to operate? Peter making it so that his Entity-given powers were unusable? Well, Elias wasn’t going to stand for _that._ Even if he couldn’t call upon the Watcher for anything, he still had two hundred years worth of knowledge and connections in his arsenal. Peter Lukas was going to _suffer_ for this. Christ, was he going to see that old man _writhe._

Once out of the maze, Elias stalked to the railing overlooking the edge of the water. From there, he could at least get a good view of the skyline, perhaps clear his head. He grasped the edge of it and looked over.

Frankly, he didn’t know what he had been expecting.

Fog, of course. Close-by, all-encompassing, smothering. A pillow pressed down at just the right time. He felt like he could reach out and stroke a solid wall of it. As far as the eye could see – now, as for the Eye itself, Elias had no idea. Because he couldn’t See a bloody thing, could he? He looked down at the waters below with an irritated glare. Between the gray edge of the _Tundra_ and the outer edge of the fog, the water seemed opaque and dull. Not particularly choppy, but also rather like they were floating about in a vat of gruel-like syrup.

He couldn’t say that he had any fresh air, either. Not even a nice coastal breeze, but instead the staleness of long-confined air. This view, at least, wasn’t the maze of shipping containers, so Elias could write that in its favor. And staring at a blank canvas, so to speak, did provide him with some insight to his own mind. Why things seemed so … _off._

Ever since he had really come into his powers, Elias had been aware of an undulating, beautiful hum at the back of his skull at all times. He had heard it first in his sleep. That wasn’t uncommon on its own. Most Avatars reported music while they slept, though Elias had discovered that the definition of “music” was loose. Simon Fairchild had tried to describe the whistling notes he heard, once. Out of curiosity, he had asked Peter at a budget meeting what sort of music he heard when he tried to sleep Peter had looked at him quizzically – _Music?_ \- and had instead said that he only heard a quiet foghorn. Actually, Peter had reassured, quite good to help him get to sleep.

There were two differences in Elias’ experience. Once – that he heard it at every waking moment of the day. Two – that he determined what the “music” was and where it came from.

The humming that he heard was the overlapping voices of dozens, perhaps hundreds, of statements at any given time. Trauma from everyone in his vicinity, though Elias had never went out and sought an exact distance marker for it. Kilometers, at a minimum. He could usually focus on one if he wanted, peer in, soak the details up for himself … but that had grown dull decades ago. With the Institute, Elias could quench any curiosity whenever he liked. He had his eye on something bigger.

Of course, sometimes one voice rose up above the rest, almost a lion’s roar inside of his skull. It was quite painful, actually, and quite out of his control. Elias had found that the only way to rectify it was to compulsively scrawl the statement down somewhere. He always kept those carefully stored somewhere. The last thing he wanted was for one of the bumbling archival staff to come across a statement in Elias’ own handwriting of someone who had never actually came in.

Initially, that strange quirk had irritated him to no end. He hated statements coming unbidden to his head. He hated needing to find a pen and paper with the same urgency of a drunk needing a bucket. Those feelings had abated somewhat when he realized that the statements who came to him, shouting above all the rest, were _useful._ Vital, even, for his continued survival and grand plan. It was one of those statements that had first told him how to switch bodies.

The Eye continuing to reward him for his behavior, even if it wasn’t the most convenient. _Hm._

Staring across the railing, Elias couldn’t help but suffer under a profound sense of loss. That humming, the one that had accompanied him for two centuries, was no longer in his head. Hadn’t been since he’d woken. He supposed there was no active minds to draw statements from on this accursed vessel. They were well under the thrall of the Lonely. Poor things, really. They might very well have some _lovely statements_ locked away in their heads.

He rose his eyes from the water to the fog again. Elias had to get out of here. If Peter wanted him to go slowly into the embrace of the Lonely, well – he’d sooner fling himself off this railing.

But there was no need to rush into that, was there? That was the last resort.

Elias turned around and pressed his back against the railing. Both arms folded behind his head while he inspected the situation that lay before him.

The _Tundra_ was even more impressively large when afloat than docked. The bulk of the upper deck seemed to be taken up by those curiously dull shipping containers. He wondered just how many crewmembers wandered those solitary mazes on any given moment, or if some preferred to instead stay in their bunks, or sit at tables in abandoned breakrooms. Their own personal poison, he supposed. At the stern, however, the bridge of the ship that controlled the navigational systems rose above everything else. Easily the highest point on the _Tundra –_ and where the captain spent most of his time _._

If Peter had an _ounce_ of curiosity in him, he would use that particular vantage point to view his maze of boxes. He could even put up some cameras to watch the suffering of his crew. A panopticon, although with a much smaller purview. A smile crossed over Elias’ face at the comparison. At least he knew where Peter was.

He recalled that Peter had shown him the bridge during Elias’ one-and-only trip to the _Tundra._ Heavens, that was right, Peter had insisted so _passionately_ upon a tour that Elias felt he would be grievously offending the man if he didn’t accept. He recalled the bridge because of the massive hunk of wood in the center of it. Most modern ships (and, though heavily modified, the _Tundra_ was in fact rather modern by most standards) didn’t have the typical wooden eight-spoke captain’s wheel. Peter, through either a fascination with his version of the old maritime or a staunch belief in Lukas tradition, had installed one in his navigation room regardless.

Peter had asked him if he wanted to pilot the _Tundra_ for a bit, to get his hands upon the wheel. Appropriately, Elias had laughed in his face and turned him down. Now, he wished that he had opted to stay a little longer, if only to more adequately memorize its location. It was _difficult_ to get to places without simply being able to Know where they were. Yes, the bridge was quite easy to see, but _getting there_ was another matter altogether.

With no clocks aboard the vessel (and frustratingly, Peter hadn’t granted him a timepiece in his infinite generosity), it was difficult to know how long it took to navigate the labyrinthine corridors to find the damn entrance. When he finally entered the bridge, though, Elias noted that there wasn’t much change in the fog outside. Difficult to tell where the sun was, if the sun was even out. _Surely_ it must become night at some point, Elias considered, Peter most certainly didn’t have the power to prevent the moon from coming out. Then again, the fog was so all-encompassing that _everything_ seemed slightly dim. Perhaps Elias would just have no concept of time at all. An intimidating thought.

Most of the navigational systems on the bridge were simply for show. Elias stepped into the metal room and curiously inspected the numerous panels on every available surface. Without the gift of Knowing, it was just a blur of buttons, dials, and screens. Most of the latter were too dusty to see properly; the seats were stiff and uncomfortable. To confirm his suspicions, Elias chose a dial that seemed important (it was red, in any case) and adjusted it to the maximum level, where a tiny ‘danger!’ symbol appeared alongside a skull and crossbones.

If he had done something to irreparably destroy the ship, Elias would never know. Nothing seemed to change. He let out a huff of disappointment. Certainly it wouldn’t be that easy. _Nothing_ was ever easy for him.

Besides, he knew that the true navigational power of the ship came from the wheel in the next room. Though – Elias supposed the correct term was _artifact._

Allegedly (and according to Peter, whose stories were generally of the long, rambling, and dull flavor), the wood from the wheel had come from a tragic mountaineering expedition. A group of friends, trapped in their cabin by a particularly cruel avalanche of snow. Help would not arrive and supplies soon ran low. Outside was bitter cold.

They had resorted to cannibalism after perhaps a month. But the _true_ loneliness, Peter had said, came from the sensation that they had stopped seeing their friends as people long before the actual killing started. They only started to see them as mindless, unthinking food. The murders hadn’t been violent, hadn’t been made out of passion, but with the same cool indifference as one picking food from a supermarket. The last survivor had departed into the snowy mountains, never to be seen again, and the wheel had been taken from the very walls of the cabin.

An artifact of the Lonely, well enough. He supposed that could explain how the ship could be out on the frigid waters for months at a time. Now, _Peter –_

Elias stepped into the room and saw his husband, though perhaps he was there only in body.

The fog hung low in the room, gathering around Elias’ feet. It centralized and thickened at the center point, surrounding the wheel. Certainly, Elias could see Peter well enough – that it _was_ Peter, at any rate. A man was standing in a long navy coat that reached all the way down to his calves. He could see the golden anchor pin affixed to his lapel. He could even see the Lukas family crest resting just against his chest. Soft, pale hands gripped the wheel so tightly his knuckles were paper-white. His gold wedding band seemed more like shimmery silver.

Unfortunately, from the neck up, Peter’s head was encased in a sphere of fog. It slowly spun around him like a globe, with wispy tendrils reaching out and then descending back into the mass. Beautiful, in its own way. He was as still as an animatronic, until – just as Elias was watching – his hands moved less than a millimeter to the left, adjusting the course a minute fraction. His eyes fell on Peter’s wedding band again, color deadened by the fog. Usually it was placed around his neck, but when on voyages, Peter preferred to have it in plain view. Made the missing _keener_ that way, he had once explained, and Elias couldn’t hold back a snort at the very thought.

This was all very well and good, of course, but Elias had things to _do._ “Peter,” he spoke sharply. There was no move from the man at the wheel. He didn’t expect any. Perhaps if Peter hadn’t been on the _Tundra,_ perhaps if Peter hadn’t been clutching an artifact of the Lonely, perhaps if Peter wasn’t so deeply _unintelligent –_ then perhaps he could break through to him. Irritation flickered in his veins. “Peter, why on _Earth_ did you bring me here?” His hands found his arms again, though this time considerably more from exasperation than the cold. No reaction from his husband. When the end of the world came, he was going to be _glad_ to see this ship ripped apart. “ _Peter.”_

Nothing. Lecturing Peter would do no good. Peter seemed content to stay on the ship. For a little while, perhaps near the beginning of their very brief ‘courtship’, Elias had been curious about Peter’s “work” – he stayed on his ship for months, far longer than any Lukas before him. Sent not so much as a note. Certainly he did something, some amount of work to keep him from going mad. Was this _all?_ Staying on the wheel for God knew how long? Sleep? Eat? Think wistfully of his husband left behind in London? “God _bless_ it, Peter,” Elias continued under his breath. Shouting at him clearly wasn’t going to make a moment’s difference. It was time to work this out _logically,_ and by God, he was ready to risk wrecking the ship to do it.

He put one hand on the wheel.

The sensation started with his fingertips. Frost came over his skin, spreading like wildfire. It certainly _burned_ like it. Elias’ entire hand went numb, and he yanked his hand off the wheel with a hiss and a cry of pain. He clutched it against his chest while his vision grew blurry, certain that he would be witness to the hand growing black and withering away. Tears sprang to his eyes. His breath left him in ragged gasps and panic started to constrict his lungs. Curses, both archaic and modern, sprung from him.

It eventually passed, shifting from the utter numbness to pins-and-needles. Elias pried his hand away from his chest to examine it. Red. Very, very red. But it looked like he would be keeping his hand today, though he ought not to try anything like grabbing the wheel again. “Damn you,” he nevertheless cursed at Peter one final time, shaking his hand out to try and restore feeling proper.

Stupid of him; he should have realized that not simply anyone could take on the wheel. Perhaps Peter’s insistence at calling himself a _captain_ wasn’t so incorrect after all. Still _utterly_ self-centered and pompous, though. He considered grabbing Peter himself next, perhaps yanking the man away from the wheel. But if an artifact of the Lonely could hurt him so badly, then he didn’t want to think about what an Avatar himself could do. Even unintentionally.

And he didn’t want to be stuck in the Lonely, if he did grab him. He liked to have some confidence that he could escape it – but if he did so, there was every chance he could just wind up back on the _Tundra._ Square one, indeed.

Damn it all.

There was nothing more to be done here, Elias figured. He let his gaze linger a moment longer on the man and that dreadful wheel. From here, he did have a good view of the rest of the uppermost shipdeck. And, yes, he could see a few crewmembers wandering corridors in a sleepy haze. Someone was sat at the crane controls, but they seemed listless and unenthused. And beyond them, the impenetrable fog.

It reminded him of those old damnable maps Robert Smirke had once been so fond of. Of course, Smirke had been born several centuries after the discovery of the New World, but that didn’t stop him from seeking out maps from roughly that time frame from cartographers who often gouged him for it. Although Smirke appreciated many elements from them – the style, he would occasionally wistfully sigh, maps and blueprints were simply not made with such _elegance_ anymore – he appreciated the denotation of the unexplored areas most of all.

_Hic sunt monstra._

_Here be monsters._

Smirke could spend an age tracing over the dragons, leviathans, and sirens that decorated the unexplored portions of the map. He would often use those creatures as inspiration for the gargoyles that adorned his buildings. Between the monsters, however, the unexplored areas were depicted as fog. No idea of the distance, no idea of the weather conditions, no idea of the survivability. Personally, Elias always found that more concerning than the monsters. Monsters could be fought, given proper planning. Fog was a force of nature, as unyielding and uncaring as death itself.

Strange his choice in husband, then. Elias glanced down at his wedding ring and, for the first time, felt fear.

Had he really done it now? Had he really inspired such anger in Peter that he was going to be left to die on this ship, a snack carelessly thrown into the maw of the Lonely? For heaven’s sake, part of the _deal_ had been not to get involved with his little Ritual. Peter was being _unfair,_ Elias wanted to shout. But then again, as Peter was occasionally capable of great cunning – he was more often accused of great childishness.

He pulled himself away from the window, from the wheel room, from the navigational systems, from the bridge. Elias supposed that there was not much above deck for him, now. And if he had time to kill – which he did, potentially the rest of his life – he would rather spend it in the only semi-comfortable place on the ship. Peter’s quarters. It took him much less time to get there than it took to find the bridge, and Elias soon sulked down the stairs and pushed the heavy wooden door open with his shoulder.

Just as he had left it. Warmer, too, which was welcome. Elias’ shoulders were slumped in a dazed sulk. If it wasn’t so damned hard to _think_ in here, to come up with a plan – but what plan was there? He couldn’t engage with anyone. He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t kill everyone aboard, though that would make him _feel better._ Surely Peter had a gun around here somewhere. Dejected, he sat down on the bed and gingerly toed off his shoes, before stifling a yawn with one hand. Christ, had he just gotten up? Or had it been hours?

Either way, Elias was exhausted already. A symptom of the _Tundra,_ he knew. Nobody who fell victim of the Lonely was wide-eyed and alert, which meant that Elias was not invulnerable. Smooth off the spiky corners of the brain, the uprisings of rebellion and fortitude and bravery. Peter’s plan could very well win, and his Institute would be in shambles. Two hundred years of planning down the drain because _Peter_ was having a _tantrum._ Elias’ lips drew up into a pout.

He curled up onto his side, pulling the heavy duvet over him. The underside was furred and smelled of Peter. Strange to think, the other time Elias had spent the night there, he had _enjoyed_ himself. Not that he would ever admit it, least of all to Peter. It had been a bit of fun, sex often was, but the _Tundra_ had been in port then. Elias had been alert. Well, if by some miracle he managed to escape, he _certainly_ was not going to step foot on this place ever again.

Still, he was not entirely without plan. Elias supposed that, if Peter still had need to sleep out here (and, given the messiness of his side of the bed, he did), then he would be returning to his quarters at some point. Not at the helm. Perhaps he could convince him then. He could only hope Peter hadn’t anticipated that and already made plans to sleep elsewhere on the ship. To let his husband spend nights alone in a cold bed.

Given the bolt of unease that hit him at the very thought, Elias tried not to think of that as a more likely possibility.

Regardless. One rest wouldn’t send him spiralling down, would it? His eyes were so terribly heavy and his hand still ached, and he’d never noticed how easy it was to fall asleep without that humming of voices in his head, begging to be picked apart. Elias nuzzled his head against the pillow and took a deep breath. Perhaps he would feel more alive when he woke up.


	2. A Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Toxic relationship, sea monsters, some physical assault

_He could smell blood._

_His victim’s blood. He had long since forgotten how they had wronged him – but did it matter? Was it not enough for them to simply exist? For them to be prey and for him to be predator? There had been an actual trespass, some act of sin, but what did lions know of murder?_

Elias wretched awake, bile in his throat. His head throbbed, each word pounding against his skull in blistering cacophony. He yanked the duvet off of him (hot, _hot,_ someone was pressing irons against him as he slept) and stumbled out of the bed. His hands went to his forehead to push through his hair, clutching at it. _Pulling_ at it. The pain – he would crack his skull open if it meant to remove that _pain._ He hadn’t heard words that loud in such a long time, made only the worse because the words stood alone.

_His prey had fled somewhere vast and empty. Cowardice. There was an honorable way to die. And yet, he was pleased, because it meant that the hunt could continue. He entered that massive world with glee. His muscles flexed under his skin as he ran, so very far and so very fast, because he could smell their blood, and he could smell their fear._

Pen. Paper. Elias needed to write this down. For blessed relief. Dark spots blooming behind his eyes, Elias staggered forward from the bed. The bile rose a little higher into his throat, and before he could stop himself, he was on his knees and vomiting acid into a nearby bucket. There was no time to wait. He pushed himself up, swaying and stumbling back, before his eyes fell onto Peter’s desk. There was a pen, and there was a paper, and Elias could _cry._

_The only hesitation he felt was when the ground softened under his paws and then dissolved entirely. Water. His prey had fled into water. Deep, deep down. And for a moment, he could only yowl and roar in rage and disappointment. How could he flee into the water? His lungs would burst, his body would float, and his prey would remain gleeful and safe. He could feel the wet sand between his toes, and his claws sank in._

_And then he heard a voice._

The wooden chair _screeched_ back as Elias yanked it. He sat on it sideways, immediately slumping over the desk. For a moment, he feared that he would not even have the strength to reach for a pen. How could something be nearby? An embodiment of the Hunt, it sounded like, but they were in the middle of leagues and leagues of empty water? He let out a groan and reached for a pen, his hand shaking wildly. Elias flipped a piece of paper over and began to scrawl the words coming unbidden to his head.

_The voice was soft and whimsical, airy as the breeze that ruffled his fur. He could go into the water, and he could find his prey, the voice promised, but he could never leave. Once the prey had been slaughtered, then he would have to remain there forever. Just one predator in an empty tub. Splish-splash, the voice had chortled, and his whiskers twitched. He did not have time for games._

_But the voice was speaking true. And he stepped into the water. It came to his chest, it came to his nose, it came to his ears. A different sort of fear hit him, the one of being betrayed, a siren call treating_ him _as the prey, no no no, that wasn’t right, that wasn’t the order of it._

_Then he breathed in, his whiskers floating lethargically under the sea._

_He could smell blood and he could smell delicious, delicious fear._

At least it was something. Elias had feared that he’d never hear the voices again, if he were just to be eaten on this ship, and he scrawled it down in messy penmanship. He could barely see from the migraine pounding between his ears, and certainly didn’t have the coherence to actually _think_ about the words. Their implication. No, he just needed to get the words down. He just needed to make the noise in his head stop, and then he could think.

_He had been in the water for so long. His prey had swam far away, but that hardly mattered. He had swam faster. He was almost upon them, and then his tireless pursuit would be over. He hadn’t looked back since the water had first come over his head. Had he changed? The swimming was coming easier; his paws were no longer weighed down by the water – no, he no longer had paws, did he? But he did not know, for he only looked forward. He lashed his long body and dove deeper._

_All that a predator needed was the scent of blood and teeth. Everything else was transport. He heard the heartbeat of his prey, trembling down in the depths below, and then his eyes fell on him. Terrified pinprick eyes stared back, and for a second, the hunter paused in confusion._

_When had his prey gotten so small?_

Elias dotted the question mark on the page. He had needed another, and had turned over another one of Peter’s correspondences for it. The pain had begun to abate, and the statement had reached its end. “Oh, thank god,” Elias whispered out, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. The loud ones were always the worst, but at least it had been blessedly short.

He straightened out the statement that he had taken to examine it. A Hunter caught in the Vast. It was unusual for an Avatar of one Entity to quickly and ruthlessly assign itself to another, but not entirely unheard of. Some people were far too curious, or driven, for their own bloody good sometimes. No doubt this one was one of Simon’s pets now.

Sometimes, Elias wondered if Simon even _served_ the Vast or whether he just delighted himself in his grotesque menagerie. Honestly. Whether it was the sea, the air, or somewhere in between – the Vast could make itself known in the most unusual of places. Elias bit the end of his pen in thought while he examined the statement once more.

And then Elias Bouchard had an idea. A _very,_ very good idea – dangerous, of course, but if it worked as Elias suspected it would … it would make Peter _suffer._ All he needed was some wine.

Elias stood up from the desk as a renewed man, full of vim and vigor. He disappeared into the bathroom to brush his teeth, reapply some of Peter’s godawful cologne, and then he set off for the mess hall.

At first, Elias wondered if Peter wasn’t being terribly foolish, keeping his wine in the larder with the rest of the food for the crew. It was the good wine – then again, Peter hardly had taste in bad wine. For all of his faults – and potential attempted mariticide aside – he did have expensive, and excellent, preferences. Then Elias supposed he didn’t exactly have to worry about thievery; none of these crewmembers showed an ounce of rebellion in their hearts. Peter ran a well-oiled machine with few hiccups. It was probably why the grey-faced cook hadn’t given him any sort of reproach when he pushed by her and entered the backroom.

His fingers played over the bottles of wine. He was hardly going to choose a _bad_ year, especially if it were going to be his last bottle of wine on Earth. Finally, his fingers closed around the handle and Elias giddily pulled it out. Lovely! Oh, he just adored a good red! He snagged an empty wine glass from the chipped dishware cabinet and fled back to Peter’s quarters like a giddy teenager.

There was an urge to drink the entire bottle. He had suffered so terribly much from being here, after all, and a little bit of drunkenness wouldn’t be _entirely_ unacceptable. But, no. Higher things were at risk. Elias poured himself a glass of wine and drank it all at once without savoring it. Heavens, this was certainly an experience that he never had as a youth – getting drunk in one’s bedroom for no reason at all. Ever since he’d been aware of these powerful Entities, his entire life had been devoted to helping them. From thieving libraries to robbing graves, Elias’ career had started off with considerably more legwork.

Well. First time for everything. He poured himself a second glass and drank that one more slowly. Oh, Peter did have good taste in wine. Sometimes he wanted to flay that man alive, but Elias could grant him that the Lukas family had decent taste. It was flavorful on his tongue and, just for a few minutes, the colors around Peter’s cabin grew vivid.

Elias felt comfortably light-headed when he finished the second glass. Elias Bouchard’s body _was_ more of a lightweight than its predecessor, and it reminded him most keenly of his original form. Good, because he had every intention of seeing the end of the world in this one. He debated on a third glass, eyeing the half-full bottle. What would be the harm, really? It could even be a bit of fun.

Eventually, he decided against it. No, he ought to keep his wits about him in case something went tits-up. And god knew it would. He was about to fight a very powerful man in his own castle. He pushed himself up from the bed and returned to the bathroom to sorrowfully pour the rest of the bottle down the sink. Perhaps, if he had ample time, he would get another bottle before he left.

He returned to the desk and reached for the statement that he had written. There was little that had to be added at the bottom, but Elias did so in considerably neater handwriting. Simply, he wrote:

_Dearest Simon,_

_I’d like to request a favor._

_Your affectionate colleague,_

_Elias Bouchard_

The statements were rolled up and subsequently stuffed in the bottle. The cork danced between his fingers before he stuffed it back in, offering a few quick smacks before it was properly lodged. This had been a game as a child, notes in bottles and hoping that it would be found by a pirate or a siren or _someone_ someday. - a juvenile pleading for magic and adventure and love to be real. In a way, his childhood self would be delighted at what he was about to do. He went back above deck and quickly skirted his way through the cargo containers before approaching the railing once again.

Thick deep fog. Cold gray metal. And below – leagues and leagues of water.

Elias held the wine bottle in his hand, before shifting his grip so that he was clutching the neck of it. It simply wouldn’t do to _drop_ it and have the blasted thing shatter against the hull. He lobbed the bottle as far as it would go, seeing it arc across the horizon. Although he couldn’t see it (it had gone much too far into the fog for him to keep an eye on it), the soft _splash_ it made as it struck the water seemed deafening aboard the _Tundra._ A devious smile spread across Elias’ face. Now, he only had to –

“Elias.” _Shit._ “What _are_ you doing?” _Shit shit shit._

Elias turned casually to put his back against the railing. Peter Lukas stood on the deck just a few feet away. The fog had dissipated from around his head and Peter was examining him with an annoyed, critical eye. Elias returned the gesture with one raised eyebrow, even as his heart started to race. _If he wanted you dead, he would’ve flung you overboard hours ago,_ Elias reminded himself, though that didn’t calm him down any. His weakness had always been in the physical, and Peter was _bigger_ than him by a large margin. And, Elias couldn’t let himself forget, this was Peter’s own home. He’d never seen him look more comfortable everywhere.

Of course Peter had seen him fling the damnable bottle. Was _that_ what it took to get a little attention around here? Petty theft and destruction? “Well, you see,” Elias explained, resting one hand on his hip. The other rested along the railing, as if it wasn’t bitterly cold. He looked off into the distance. “My husband’s kidnapped me aboard his vessel and then abandoned me entirely. I’m afraid I’ve got nothing to do but to start talking to fish.”

Peter was not amused. He stepped forward until he was in Elias’ space, silently demanding his attention. Despite himself, the fear dissipated quickly from Elias’ mind. Perhaps it was the tipsiness, or the fact that this was the first time someone had talked to him in _hours,_ but he was nearly glad to see the man who clearly did intend his death at the hands of his patron. It was a voice. “What was in the bottle?” Peter demanded.

“Wine, my dear. You would know. You purchased it at some point.”

Oh, that made anger flare up in Peter’s eyes. _Good._ Anger always made Peter _stupid._ His stupid silver tongue. “Elias, you know damn well – “

“Actually, now that you’re here,” Elias elaborated, glancing at his nails like he hadn’t had a care in the world. Certainly like he wouldn’t care if Peter vanished into nothingness. “I do have some concerns about this _thing_ that’s going on here. For heaven’s sake, Peter, you’re being entirely unreasonable. We _agreed_ that I wouldn’t interfere in your little Ritual. You can hardly blame me when my _employee -_ “

“I don’t believe you.”

Elias did not _like_ being cut off. He fixed Peter with a look equal parts shocked and equal parts resentful, but nevertheless, Peter continued. “I’m not an _idiot,_ Elias, I know how you act. I don’t know what sort of idea you planted in Gertrude’s head that tipped her off, but I _know_ the wager was rigged to begin with.”

… Well. Elias _had_ considered that. But Gertrude trusted him so little as it was, he had feared that ‘tipping her off’ would actually make her more inclined _not_ to investigate. So he had kept his part of the bargain. _This_ time, anyway. “So I decided that enough was _enough._ I’m not going to be played the fool any longer.”

_There’s no need to play a role that you’ve performed since you were born,_ Elias thought with irritation. His suspicions had been correct – Peter Lukas was having a _tantrum_ because he had consequences for his own stupid actions. And Peter was pissing him off _terribly._ Still, Elias perfectly composed his face so that it didn’t register. “ _Peter,”_ he uttered in a voice that was little more than a coo. His eyes were wide and surprised while he raised his hand to cup the side of Peter’s face. Peter’s beard was especially prickly there, unkempt and damp with moisture. “I’m surprised you think so poorly of me. Haven’t I been good to you? And look at how you repay me. Attempting to _murder_ your spouse. More to the point, you’re going to give your patron indigestion by giving him _me,_ of all the people.”

To his delight, Peter _hesitated._ Elias did know more than him about Entity specifics – for as long as the Lukas family had followed their own, they weren’t exactly the most academic lot. Elias’ thumb stroked his cheekbone lovingly while he thought of the perfect memory to render Peter _precisely fucking catatonic._

Maybe he couldn’t drag anything out of Peter’s brain aboard the _Tundra_ , but by the _Watcher, he could shove something in._

He recalled their wedding. He recalled what a frightfully dull affair it was. He recalled the staunch, boring traditional recitations. The food had been decent, and Elias had scampered off with a bottle of champagne at the end of it. While he would hesitate to call what he had for Peter now ‘affection’, it was certainly _familiarity._ There was none of that during the actual ceremony; honestly, they’d barely known one another. It had been a simple matter of old-fashioned business. Elias would marry Peter and Peter would continue to fund the Institute.

He recalled looking out onto the crowd of faces and seeing someone with a striking resemblance to Peter himself. It was strange to see her so close, not from glimpses here and there, but sitting in the front row and silently watching her heir get married. Peter’s eyes had been trained on him the entire while, not even sparing a glance for the family that had raised him. Peter’s siblings hadn’t attended for good reason. But Elias remembered her face. And remembered the joy Peter had when telling him - practically _crowing -_ that he couldn’t recall his own mother’s face.

Elias brought up that image in his mind, the listless woman staring at her new son-in-law, and stared up at Peter with fresh provocation burning in his eyes. They burned into Peter’s own, right into his skull, and he filled his every passing thought with the visage of the mother he had tried so hard to forget. The fingernail on his thumb pressed so firmly into Peter’s cheekbone that it drew blood.

It worked. To a degree, regardless. Color flooded into Peter’s face and his jaw unclenched in surprise. Something about his cloudy gray eyes grew more alert – and then, immediately, _anger._ Elias could’ve laughed at him for it, frankly. How fraught the Lukases were with vulnerabilities! Perhaps if someone had told Peter the sort of man Elias was, then he would’ve deigned to marry the butler instead.

Peter’s hand shot up to lock around Elias’ wrist. He _squeezed_ and stepped forward, pushing Elias’ lower back into the railing edge. _Uh-oh._ Elias felt that perhaps he had overestimated Peter’s intelligence – because yes, Peter didn’t want to _kill_ him, but who knew what Peter would do when sufficiently provoked? And Elias was fairly certain, from the way he was growling, that Elias had provoked him awfully.

... Perhaps forcing the image of his mother into his mind had been a _little_ much.

“Now, _darling,_ let’s not overreact - !” Elias got out, only to have Peter’s hand tighten around his wrist. He was bending over backwards against the railing now with the force Peter had on him – either his spine would break soon or Peter would use half a braincell and simply dump him into the water below. “I’m entitled to a bit of spite, given my situation - !” _Ow._ His wrist was going to have bruises in the morning, if there was ever going to be another morning. “Why don’t we simply have a glass of wine and _talk,_ Peter?”

There was no getting through to him. Peter wasn’t in the mood for talking – but was he _ever,_ truly? Elias twisted himself so he could look over the railing at the water below. He knew the answer already – they were too high to ever survive a jump at this height, and good, he’d rather instantaneous death over the burn of drowning – but he didn’t even manage to look at the water. His attention was caught to the horizon.

“Peter!” Elias shouted out with some urgency, using his other hand to point frantically towards it. His muscles protested wildly. “The _fog!”_

That caught Peter’s attention. The pressure was relieved on Elias’ lower back and he couldn’t help but gather a sigh of relief (if he _was_ going to go out, it would be because he enraged someone to homicide, he was sure of it, he’d reacted too harshly, even if it had been fun to watch Peter grow enraged). Then he took a step back from the railing to turn around. Elias saw for himself what he had done. Peter’s hand left him, and Elias distractedly rubbed at his wrist.

Oh, Simon Fairchild was a _beauty._ It was clearing. Patches, here and there, but enough to let the sunshine hanging far up above stream down. Christ, it wasn’t any later than _noon._ Elias let out a small chuckle as the sun caught his face. Over the railing, he could see that the grey slate water was actually starting to turn a beautiful sapphire. A playful ocean breeze tickled his eyelashes.

“What - “ Peter coughed next to him. “Elias, what the hell did you _do?”_

Elias clucked his tongue appreciatively. “Oh, there’s no need to be so dramatic. I didn’t do this. I’m not a _god.”_ But as the patches of clouds flowed away, leaving nothing but blue sky and blue ocean for miles and miles in an endless eternity – well, he was ready to elect Simon Fairchild to the position. Perhaps it didn’t solve his final problem of being stuck on a boat in the middle of nowhere, but at least now his view was more pleasant and the Lonely had no grasp of his mind. Christ, he could do a _jig._ He cast a look up towards Peter with a wary eye, now concerned for his anger. “Maybe Simon’s deciding to pay a visit.”

Peter physically recoiled at the thought of additional company, and Elias let out a polite little breathy laugh at the view. At least this had shocked Peter into relative complacency. He could see the uncertainty on his face now – this hadn’t happened to him before and he was struggling to find a solution. To bring the fog _back._ Poor man.

Perhaps he could convince Peter to stop by at a local dock, whereupon he would immediately sneak off. He’d find his way home from there. Certainly, he had no bank cards on him, but Elias _always_ found himself to be a rather resourceful person. He had leaned over the railing again, cheek perched in his hand. “Isn’t the view lovely, Peter? I hate to disrupt your schedule so, but perhaps we could see where … “

He trailed off without any real stopping point. He felt something. Something was … _vibrating_ underneath the ship. Elias raised an eyebrow. Perhaps the engine? The engine thrummed around the ship constantly anyway, but … no. This was louder.

This was much more akin to a roar. Deep underneath the both of them. Deep, deep under the water. _Ibi est monstrum. There is a monster._

Oh, no. Simon hadn’t. Simon simply _hadn’t._

Ripples began to form on the surface of the water, disturbing the quiet stillness of the otherwise immense plane. Bubbles floated up next in a ceaseless roil. Elias felt his wedding band vibrate against the metal railing, and he spared a look up towards Peter.

_Dear._ Peter looked frightened. “Elias,” he stated quietly, none of the anger left in his voice. He wasn’t meeting Elias’ eyes. “What did you _do?”_

“Well, darling, you see … “ Elias turned back towards the ripples on the ocean. They were growing bigger. And … _yes,_ there it was. Beneath the surface of the water, something massive and writhing and positively serpentine. Much bigger than anything in the water naturally should have been, but then again, didn’t Simon always had a flair for the dramatic? He gave his shoulders a shrug. “This is what happens when you decide to be childish.”

It crested the water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, Simon Fairchild being the patron fear saint of gigantic monsters is really a thing that I wish was explored more. Initially, the idea of one of Simon's sea monsters showing up was going to be put in one of my longform fics (I think Candlestick Maker?), but it didn't end up working out. And now, here it is in all of its glory!
> 
> I also love the idea that one of Elias' fatal flaws being chronic underestimation of people and forgetting to see them as people. It's like, /I/ as the author don't necessarily see Peter as stupid, but Elias most definitely would think every single person around him was just a complete fool. Hence, Elias nearly getting tossed off the boat here.


	3. The Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Toxic relationship, near-death experience

Dimensions were a difficult thing to measure when the creature of that enormity was moving as it was. A blue whale was 80. The longest creatures in the world, variations of jellyfish, could be over 250 and were thin as paper. Elias could only say that it was much, much longer than the _Tundra_ and the _Tundra_ itself was 1400 feet long. Longer than a living creature had any right to be – and certainly long enough that, if its habitat wasn’t infinite, it would have been noticed long before now.

How this immense creature could shove itself out of the water with such force, Elias didn’t know. He could only be grateful that the Vast hadn’t directed its ire at him yet. The sea-serpent pushed itself out of the water with the propulsion force of a rocket, and it was all Elias could do to see his face. Just a flash, before it moved to arc over his head.

It wouldn’t be strictly accurate to describe the creature as a lion. Perhaps it had been _like_ a lion once. Perhaps it had been like a human once.Perhaps it had always been neither. But lions only had one mouth. This one had at least three – rows and rows of slimy, sharp razor-edge teeth lined the central cmaw of the creature. Then, like a fungus, more sharp protrusions along its neck and cheeks. Not large enough to be any sort of tusks or fangs, nor were most of them housed in a mouth, but just sharp tooth protrusions all across its body. Two black beady eyes stared up at the sky, nearly lifeless.

What could be considered the ‘mane’ were concentric rings of shimmery orange fins, streaked here and there with red. Doubtlessly the most beautiful part of the creature, Elias considered, though he supposed that if he had come face to face with it … well, he wouldn’t be all that bothered about its beauty. The fins gave way to the scaly torso – and the scaly torso – and the scaly torso – as feet and feet of it rose out of the water, like it went all the way down to the ocean floor. Tan and orange scales practically dazzled his eyes in the sunlight of it all.

This would be one of Simon’s pets. And Elias was certain that he’d never see its tail.

After the creature had gone several stories high, it began to roar. The roar rattled his eardrums and made him back away from the railing, half-colliding with Peter. On instinct, he looked up at his husband, settling on his face. Peter was in a state of shock, unthinkingly taking Elias by the elbow to steady him. It was there that Elias remembered Peter didn’t really have centuries of experience with this sort of thing. Peter wasn’t precisely _innocent,_ but he hadn’t gone to see Simon’s morbid menagerie personally.

His gaze returned to the lionsnake. It reached the apex of its leap, though Elias could see that a sizable amount of it was still under the water. What was the point of this breach, then? Just to shock Peter into compliance? While he wouldn’t be _opposed_ to that sort of thing, Elias would have much preferred Simon not to delve into petty theatrics. There was no need for drama. And then he saw that, as the tip of the lionsnake’s head started to fall again, it was not going to hit the water.

It was going to hit the other side of the ship.

Elias’ eyes widened. _Simon, you have lost it._ Peter made the connection only a few seconds after Elias did. They didn’t have anywhere to run to – all that was there were the maze of shipping containers that were more likely to be projectiles than anything else. The bridge was too far away. The captain’s quarters were about to be struck by a falling leviathan. Adrenaline hit him like a freight train, and his breath caught in his throat. What was there to do? Simon was going to kill them both in one fell swoop, and perhaps that had been the _cretin’s_ plan all along.

“Elias,” Peter barked as a command, and then Elias felt an arm around his hip. Warm fingers dug into the fabric of his cotton shirt. The creature was falling, falling, falling – he wondered if sea monsters could feel vertigo – and Peter gripped the metal railing with all of his might on his other hand. Elias looked up into his face, and saw the visage of a man who was used to bad weather.

The monster struck.

Like it was nothing more than a toy floating about in a tub, the entire ship yawned to tilt on its end. Elias saw the massive body of the creature still on the other end. Its scales were difficult to miss as it pushed the other side down, down, down into the water.

Elias lost his footing rather quickly on the slippery surface of the deck. Their side of the ship rose out of the water, and Elias clung to the railing for dear life. How strange to hear water _dripping_ off the deck. Peter’s arm was a constant around his hip, holding him against his chest to keep him from sliding down the deck into … well. It was difficult to say whether he’d be _eaten_ or freeze to death or be dashed against those scales, but none were particularly happy endings.

Vertigo overwhelmed him while he felt the ship kept rising up and out of the water, the angle underneath his feet becoming more and more precarious. The creature, whose head had returned underwater, roared again. Elias could see from here that the very sound made the water churn and roil. The glitter of scales made him wince; he’d missed the blessed sunlight and now it hurt him. His fingers dug into the railing, but Christ, how long could he be expected to hold himself there? The blasted metal pole was already slick with ocean mist.

What quickly grew more concerning was the creaking sound of metal beneath his feet. Ships were not meant to move in the direction that the ship was moving. For one moment, it seemed like the very hull was going to rip apart. To splinter under his feet like a tree trunk. Elias looked down the deck again, and realized that it wasn’t the ship breaking apart at all. The cargo containers were starting to come loose from their moorings. Container ships were not meant to rest at a forty-five degree angle. He watched as the containers started to fall into the water – one, or twos and threes, entire stacks at a time. Each landed into the water with a loud crash. One struck the monster, and Elias could feel its pained groan from the very railing he was clutching onto.

However, those repeated impacts were enough to at least push the seamonster off of the ship, and therefore the weight that was holding the ship down. It rolled off, leaving behind a cluster of windshield-sized orange scales sticking out of the far end of the deck. Elias let out a huff of curious interest, even as his arms started to slide down the railing. His feet dangled uselessly – the angle was too steep for him to gain purchase. God knew how Peter was managing it.

It was only then that Elias remembered that they weren’t the only two aboard the ship.

Impossible to know how many crewmembers had been lost already (actually, with the fog clearing, it was more than possible to Know – it was _nine,_ Elias thought smugly), but he could see a few more meeting their deaths yet. Some were sliding down the deck into the waters below, unable to find purchase on the smooth wood. A few were clinging to objects around the ship. A few had, unfortunately, taken refuge in the mass of storage containers. And the majority were below the deck. He wondered how a situation like this would affect acolytes of the Lonely – perhaps they were all sitting below deck in quiet little clust –

He had adjusted his arms the smallest amount to get a better hold on the railing, and it slipped from its grasp. To his great indignity, Elias shouted just once in surprise and fear for his life. He was going to die. He was going to fall, to crack his head on the way down if he were lucky, and Simon’s brutish lion _abomination_ was going to eat him. He wouldn’t even swallow. Elias was going to get caught in its teeth.

“I’ve got you.” The arm around his waist tightened, and Elias moved no further down the deck. Letting out a gasp of relief, Elias clung to Peter for dear life. His hands balled up on his jacket. “I’ve … got you.” Peter was expending some effort to do so; his face was red with exertion. Elias hoped to god his one lifeline wasn’t about ready to give out on him. He forced himself to look away, though the view off the railing wasn’t that much better.

Five stories above the water? Five or six. Perhaps seven. Certainly much higher than the Magnus Institute. Reminded him of when he rode the London Eye the first time, and he’d been only a modicum less terrified then. People were not meant to be quite so _high._ At least the Eye had a somewhat more secure foundation than the captain of the _Tundra._ The fall would kill him just as easily, though, and was he breathing quickly? Was he breathing too fast? He couldn’t fill his lungs. _Christ._ His lungs were useless.

With the monster off of the other end of the ship, the upturned end was set to make a splash down back into the water. Perhaps a deadly sort of equilibrium. Elias had no idea how much faith he ought to have in the integrity of the _Tundra._ Who was to say it would break apart on the surface of the water?

There was the urge – human but there – to turn away. To not bear witness to his own death. After all, he could bury his face in Peter’s chest. He wouldn’t call Peter a man that he loved (by any stretch of the imagination, good lord, the very idea), but he was _there_ and he was, at the bare minimum, a place where he didn’t have watch his own demise. And his scent was familiar, and if Elias was feeling particularly desperate, he could even pretend this was a lover’s embrace instead of the last resort of two men set to die.

The Watcher overwhelmingly demanded otherwise. If he were to die, then he _must_ observe it.

Two hundred years of willpower. Elias took a deep breath, tightened his thin fingers in Peter’s coat, and forced himself to look back over the edge at the rapidly approaching water. All around him, more storage containers tumbled into the water. The creature rumbled from below the ocean, now retreating back to whatever depths that it preferred. Peter was huffing breaths against his head, his own heart hammering in his chest. No doubt that this was the most exertion that he’d had in quite a while.

And, of course, beyond all of it – beyond every other little thing in his cone of vision – was the great expanse of the waves. It seemed to rise up to meet him rather than the other way around, and against his arms, he felt Peter press his own head against the top of Elias’. _At least someone’s shielding their eyes,_ Elias thought with a curious detachment as he watched the imminence of his own death. Somewhere below the water, he could see the coiled belly of the beast. Writhing.

At least Peter continued to hold him, because he had no hope of using his legs. They felt like jelly, his stomach slowly rising into his throat – curious how it was always only the stomach that seemed to rise, and none of the other squishy meaty organs that resided in the human cavity. _To have a tape recorder would be excellent,_ Elias thought to himself dully. _Though my eyes belong to the Watcher in any instance. It was an excellent attempt at the end of the world, wasn’t it?_

Three – two – one.

Elias hadn’t expected the sheer impact of the hull striking the water. It wiped him off his feet – less surprising – but also the man that he’d been clinging onto. Peter’s legs buckled, he stumbled backward, and suddenly they were both sprawled on the deck. Elias’ slammed into Peter’s front and painfully decided that he would perhaps lay there for a little while longer.

He waited for the sound of metal being torn apart, the sure sign that the _Tundra_ had undergone too much stress and started to break apart. It didn’t come. And just as Elias began to relax, as soon as he let his head drop onto Peter’s chest, a gigantic wave of water crashed over the ship’s railing and onto them both. Elias was quickly, and without exception, soaked. “ _Oh!”_ He yelped from the cold of it, splayed out over Peter’s front. His second yelp was full of disgust: “Ugh _!”_

They were alive. He may have been freezing wet – he may have been bruised – he may have been, yes, _scared,_ but good god. He was alive. Elias waited a minute longer before placing his hand down on the deck, pushing himself up just enough to look at Peter’s face.

Peter looked back at him, grey cloudy eyes looking into his own and hair plastered against his skull. His hand still rested against his lower back, keeping Elias against him in a manner almost loving. Elias huffed a breath and let his head collapse against Peter’s chest again. He could rest for a few moments before he could deal with whatever _else_ lay in store for him.

To his delight, Peter’s hand was moving across his back in slow, comforting motions. Elias didn’t take it as a sign of affection – Peter was not an affectionate man – but it did indicate that he wasn’t lividly angry with him. _Yet._ There was no humming in his skull, either, and the oceans were quiet once again. The creature had peeled off to parts unknown. Just pure, simple, quiet.

For a time.

The sound that Elias heard wasn’t coming from the ocean – at least, he didn’t think. It wasn’t that deep. No, the sound that Elias heard was coming from directly below them. _The lower decks,_ he realized. He was hearing wailing from tens of crewmembers below the deck. It spun around them like a symphony. The beautiful noise of the entire remaining crew roster snapping out of the Forsaken haze that had gripped them for months. Years, some of them. Peter had so patiently pruned a garden of hapless followers and now they had been plucked.

Elias’ suspicions were confirmed when he could jump behind their eyes and see them. Even after this terrifying disaster had befallen them, they were nonetheless happy. Crying with it. Drunk with it. For the first time, they were hugging one another. Crying. Sharing names, histories, information. ‘ _I’m_ _Max,’_ a man cried out, clutching the forearms of another. ‘ _Christ, I’m_ _Lin, I think I’ve worked with you for five years,’_ a woman effused, and they laughed and hugged each other. Alcohol was being opened in the mess hall and someone had recalled, for the first time, that there was an old guitar hidden away in the bunks that probably hadn’t rotted through yet. There would be some grief, yes, when they realized who had been lost – but for the first time in a very long time, they were experiencing the sheer joy of shared human existence.

Wails of joy. Elias smiled. It was not a rare moment of goodwill, but he had inadvertently _destroyed_ the years of effort Peter had put in to building his crew. And that did make him quite happy, indeed.

Peter was hearing it, too. Elias heard a soft noise of surprise – and then Peter went entirely still. His hand slid off Elias’ back with a ‘ _thump’,_ his knuckles striking the floor.

The cold and the wet didn’t seem to bother Elias much anymore. With a smirk on his face, Elias pushed himself up until he was straddling the man underneath him. Peter could easily push him off, of course, but Elias considered the man beaten so soundly that he would be as meek as a churchmouse. “ _Never_ attempt to feed me to your patron again, Peter,” Elias commanded, jabbing one finger into his chest.

Not a word from his husband. Just somewhat frightened, beady eyes and a blank face. Elias swung his leg back over and stood up from his position. His legs still felt quite wobbly, but gratefully, he was able to maintain his balance. He surveyed the scene.

Most of the storage containers were gone. Elias noted delightfully that the empty boxes were bobbing in the ocean, absolute _dozens_ of them. There was certainly some damage on the other end of the ship (if only from the creature’s large scales partially piercing the hull, though Elias didn’t see any indication the ship was sinking), and overall, the _Tundra_ would need _quite_ a few repairs to be operational again.

Not to mention that it would need an entire crew. Even before finding new members, Peter would doubtlessly have to kill these ones – properly and permanently, not scoring any favor from his patron for it. Unless he wanted several dozen crewmembers crying about the ill treatment they received at the hands of the captain of the _Tundra._

Employee acquisition would involve an awful lot of interviews.

Elias was giddy at the thought. He’d have to make sure he watched _those._ He turned around to look towards Peter, still lying on his back in stunned stupefication.

“You’ll notice that this is what I was able to do with _zero_ notice. _After_ you kidnapped me from my very bed and transported me on your ship.” Elias gestured with one hand towards the bright blue sky. Towards the orange scales embedded in the ship. Towards the raucous celebration going on below. “And I _assure_ you, Peter, if you even _think_ about doing something of this nature again – can you imagine what I’d be able to do with even an hour’s worth of preparation for this very scenario?” He chuckled, his hand falling to his hip. Oh, he could just imagine. It would certainly be less _tedious_ for him if he could make a plan, wouldn’t it?

“But, as you know, I’m a very busy man. I don’t want to be wasting my workday to ensure that my _husband_ doesn’t try and have me killed. Can you even imagine the upset in the balance my extended absence would create?” An ocean breeze flirted around his cheek, causing him to shiver. It was always endearing to use the word ‘husband’ as if it _meant_ anything – as if they even liked each other, really. “So for everyone’s sake, perhaps you – “

“You’ve made your _point,_ Elias.” Letting out a soft _hm?,_ Elias turned back around to stare at Peter. He was sitting up, now, hunched over his knees. Some of Peter’s front had escaped the worst of the seawater. He started at pushing his up his sleeves. “I yield. You’ve won. I won’t be doing it again.” His voice lowered to a displeased grumble. “Won’t have time, with all I’ve got to do now.”

Elias could’ve preened with pleasure. He did like the small victories. Even if he had to get soaking wet and a little bruised for this one. And, of course, there was something to be said about the smug pride at getting himself out of a seemingly hopeless situation. “Yes. _Well._ Before you get to doing all that, do take me back to my office. This holiday has been delightful, but I really would rather go back to work.” He extended a hand to help Peter up.

Peter didn’t take it. Instead, the man sighed and pushed himself into a standing position. “Fine,” he mumbled morosely, spirits looking somewhat crushed. The _poor thing,_ Elias thought sarcastically. Peter stuck out a hand for him, then, and Elias gave him the sweetest smile he could muster before he took it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lionsnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaake.


	4. Seafood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Toxic relationship

Using the Lonely as a doorway was always disorienting, though he had gotten used to it over the years. Both he and Peter preferred it whenever they simply _had_ to meet. Still, it always made Elias feel like he had been driving for quite a long time the moment he stepped out of it.

But it worked like a charm. One minute, he was grasping Peter’s soaked hand. The next, he was stepping out into the carpet of his office … while he was dripping wet, still. Christ. At least it was warmer in there, though he wanted nothing more than to get a change of clothes. And perhaps a bloody _nap,_ after everything that had gone on. He turned around to see Peter still standing in the corner, fixing and straightening is anchor pin. His weight was constantly shifting from one foot to another.

_Waiting to be dismissed,_ Elias thought smugly. _Aye-aye, Captain._

“You’ve given me quite a large headache this morning, you know. I don’t know when I’ll ever catch up on all this work. I do _run_ the Institute, Peter. I can’t be kidnapped at a moment’s notice.”

“Sorry, Elias.” Peter wasn’t sorry, not _really,_ but he seemed too exhausted to otherwise fight back at him. His dominion – _his_ version of the Institute – had just been forcibly torn away from the Lonely. Poor dear was probably feeling awfully exposed.

“Make sure it doesn’t happen again. You’re not a fool or a child; there’s no reason to get upset when _I_ held up my part of our deal.”

“It won’t happen again.”

He desperately wanted to get out of the Institute. Elias could see that he was uncomfortable. Either that or the wet clothing. When he caught Elisa noticing, Peter shifted from foot-to-foot more slowly, but his eyes never left him. Elias approached and straightened out his damp coat. “I believe you.” But still, a back-up plan would be made. This had too many unknowns and he wanted to prepare for it. “Now, I’m certain you have a lot to do, yourself. I’ll let you get to it, give us a kiss.”

Best to keep up pretenses in the Institute. Elias was hardly going to sit down and explain to the others – _oh, it’s not a typical marriage, I had to do it because Lukases needed to be married and the Institute needed to be funded, no, it’s not a sexual arrangement of any kind, neither of us are quite so desperate as all that._ Gertrude could very well be peeking in if she wanted to. And if Elias didn’t necessarily mind a bit of affection here and there – well, he supposed it was his and the Watcher’s business only.

Obediently, Peter leaned down and pressed their lips together. Salt-water. _Eurgh._ His hand rested on Elias’ hip just long enough to make Elias wonder if Peter was more invested in this than he let on before he pulled away entirely. “Oh –!” Elias added, looping one finger around his lapel, keeping him close. “I forgot to add. When it comes time to acquire a new crew for you, do let me know. Of course I’d be willing to assist with the interview process, Peter dear.”

Peter was _so_ poor at concealing his features sometimes. His face lit up so entirely that Elias _knew,_ at that very moment, Peter didn’t hold an ounce of ill-will for what had happened. Elias was de-escalating and Peter would oblige. For the time being. Oh, that was Elias’ favorite quality of Peter’s: the man’s inherent _aversion_ to conflict. It was so _funny_ sometimes.

“Really?” Oh, bless, he looked so _earnest!_ Elias’s fingers curled further, giving his lapel a slight tug forward. “That would be rather nice, actually. And if you’d like to pry them apart yourself before sending them my way, well – might mutually benefit us.” Peter’s hand stayed on his hip, looking more good-spirited than ever.

In truth, if Elias was being honest, Peter wasn’t the _entire_ dimwitted fool that he made himself out to be. He could occasionally be inspired by great creativity and cunning. Really, if Simon’s pet hadn’t been nearby, Elias wasn’t sure what he would’ve done to rescue his skin. Perhaps there was nothing to be done. But – well, Peter didn’t have the advantage of partial omniscience and two hundred years of life, did he? And Peter knew when he had been beat. That he would always _be_ beat.

Elias’ smile was fond. “I think that would be lovely. I’ll see to it.” Perhaps he would be a little _more_ fond if he weren’t dripping water on the floor, but at least he was off the _Tundra_. “But rest assured, the only time I’ll ever step foot on your ship again is to _scupper_ the damned thing.”

Peter’s laugh boomed through Elias’ office, reverberating against the walls. Such a big laugh for a man who loved to make people so very small.

He _did_ surprise Elias, then, something that was borderline impossible. Swooping in, Peter kissed him again without prompting. He held Elias by the hip and by the shoulder. At first, Elias froze – _what are you doing, Peter?_ \- before composing and softening himself in Peter’s arms. Sometimes Elias feared that he was somehow courting affection with an Avatar of the Lonely, but perhaps the missing was all the much more appetizing if it was _real?_

Strange. He hadn’t ever intended to make Peter like him. Or perhaps it wasn’t affection at all, but rather – Elias understood him. And how many people could claim that for Peter Lukas? There was the urge to examine his own emotions, but Elias had long since divorced himself from anything of the kind years ago. People seemed so much less real when you lived outside of their lifespans, though Peter – he would begrudgingly admit that something was _different_ about Peter in a way he didn’t want to examine. Different, even, than Mordechai had been. While he could claim that he didn’t kill Peter on the spot because of his standing and money (and that was certainly true), he also would be … _disgruntled,_ if he was suddenly without Peter in his life. Peter, for his shortcomings, could be _fun._

Peter’s coat turned to vapor between his fingers. A brush of cold air struck him, and Elias stumbled forward with the sudden loss of – well. A person. Blinking, Elias found that he was alone. Ah. _Well,_ for the best, really, he did have work to be getting on with. He reached for his wedding ring and rotated it a corner-turn around his finger, before looking down at himself. The rug was completely saturated, now. Christ, he’d have to get Rosie on that, get it cleaned somewhere. The entire place was going to stink like ocean salt for a month.

He heard his office door creak open. Elias didn’t have time to Look before his Archivist came stepping in, a file in her hand. “Elias, I didn’t think you were in – _oh,”_ Gertrude broke herself off to watch the soaking wet rat of a man lean casually against his desk. She stopped and raised an eyebrow at him.

They stared at one another with reproach. Elias could feel the water dripping off him onto his desk, now. Damn. He quietly brought his hands up and smoothed his his hair back from his forehead. He heard the quick _splat-splat-splat_ of water squeezed onto the wooden surface below. “Just leave it on my desk,” Elias muttered with a wave of his hand to the paper in her grip. “I think I’ll be taking a late lunch.”

Carefully, Elias pushed himself away from the desk and pushed his sleeves up past his elbows. Oh, good, he would have to drive like this. _Charming._ Gertrude kept a fair distance from him as Elias strode to the door, putting his hand on the doorknob.

“I’ve just gotten the strangest craving for seafood.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's the end of it!
> 
> While obviously not a healthy relationship in the slightest, I think there's a lot of interesting dynamics at work in LonelyEyes. On Peter's end, he knows how powerful Elias is - and he's also conflict-averse and resistant to compromise. And, though not to the degree that Elias believes, Peter can be a little bit of a brat. On Elias' end, he does need Peter there in his master plan. I don't think Elias ever put thought down about what he feels for Peter, really, and that all feelings on his part were largely accidental and something he's largely in denial for. In terms of romantic affection, Peter thinks of them even less and operates mostly by instinct and feeling. 
> 
> Either way, this was good fun to write! :) Thank you all for reading! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I do like writing LonelyEyes, because it does give me space to express my incredibly specific Elias Bouchard headcanons - that he has a minor form of graphomania, that he has humming where Jon has static, that he and the Lukases have a long and complicated history where quirks from both families are reflected in one another. 
> 
> Plus, they've both definitely gotten angry enough at one another to try and attempt murder once or twice.


End file.
